No Angel
by Mya Scarlet
Summary: Which is the greater sin? To tell a lie, and take advantage of a man’s vulnerability to convince him to do something he otherwise would not? Or to tell yourself a lie, and pretend the boy who is in love with you is the man you cannot have? Obi-Wan/Padme
1. Padme

A/N: This story is my twisted attempt to explain the lack of chemistry in the Anakin/Padmé kiss on the lake retreat scene in the _Attack of the Clones_. For obvious reasons Padmé has to be 18 in the flashbacks.

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Which is the greater sin? To tell a lie, and take advantage of a man's vulnerability in order to convince him to do something he otherwise would not? Or to tell yourself a lie, and close your eyes, pretending the boy who is in love with you is the man you cannot have?

Padmé's winces at the unwelcome question as it surfaces in her mind, trying with increasing desperation lose herself in the kiss. But Anakin's lips are too soft and hesitant and the knowledge of who she is kissing makes her skin crawl. A flash of memories compound her disbelief: Strong hands lifting her onto the balustrade, the roughness of stone on her thighs, the scratch of stubble on her cheek, the mouth that fits so perfectly to hers; unknown and yet familiar, intimidating and yet safe...

Nothing like this. There is no part of her imagination that can convince her these lips belong to someone else. Not anyone else. One person in particular. But gods, what is she doing? This is terribly wrong…

"No. I shouldn't have done that." She pulls away abruptly, the flood of images and sensations stealing her breath. She wants them to stop but they continue to come, relentlessly, and with increasing clarity: The grass, cool and damp under her back. The sweet, blinding sensations of his caresses; bold yet gentle, as if he understands her body better than she does herself. His smile against her lips as she climaxes quickly after the only the briefest of touches…

"I'm sorry." Back in the present Anakin mumbles his apology.

She vaguely senses that he is looking at her but Padmé gazes out over the water and does not reply, caught up in the ten-year-old memories that have become more vivid than reality, and are now rushing towards their unwelcome end: Her muffled cry of pain. His weight suddenly heavy on her, the taste of blood on her lip where her teeth penetrated the skin at the same time as his body had penetrated hers. The look of horror on his face when he realises what is happening. Her own voice pleading for him to continue, her fingers digging into the bare skin of his back. Moments later the groan and the shudder of his release. The guilt and mistrust with which he looks at her afterwards…

Anakin has gone. Inside the villa, presumably. She did not notice him leave. Satisfied she is alone, Padmé hastily crosses the veranda and takes the steep gravelled path, sinking down weakily on the lawn under the Kampor tree where it happened.

Padmé was young then, and, of course, naive. Aged beyond her years by education and rank, the life of the Queen of Naboo was nevertheless a public one, and left no time or space for the youthful flirtations her contemporaries could enjoy. Consequently Padmé had found herself surrounded by people but lonely, left behind in innocence whilst everyone her age muddled through the drama of teenage relationships she could only fantasize about, or watch from afar on the brief occasions she could convince Sabé to switch places to allow her to venture out of the palace compound for pleasure rather than diplomacy. So, after the battle of Naboo, when the Jedi Council had accepted Senator Palpatine's offer of a stay on his private retreat for their newly knighted hero, Padmé had been eager to accompany the man who had recently become the focus of her first serious infatuation.

"Jedi are not allowed to form attachments." Obi-Wan had said quietly, removing her hand from his as they stood in the very spot where ten years later she would let Anakin kiss her. Obi-Wan's voice had wavered with the raw emotion of his recent bereavement, making a mockery of his words at the same time as he spoke them. It was then that Padmé resolved to give herself to him. Later, with the increased wisdom of age and hindsight she had forced herself to admit it had been nothing but a romantic fantasy. Although, at the time, she had convinced herself that this strong, noble and powerful Jedi somehow needed her feeble body to comfort him, the reality was that she thought she was in love, and the events of that night were the result of a young girl's foolish desire for this man to liberate her of her virginity. And her desperation had been sufficient to deceive him into doing it.

"I do not want you to form an attachment to me. I just want to help you." She had lied, reaching up to press a kiss to his lips, boldly slipping a hand inside his robe, hoping the action implied an experience she did not possess. "Please, let me help you."

What had she really thought would happen? Did she think he would fall in love with her and leave the Jedi Order to be with her? She had certainly never intended to cause him even more pain. But that was exactly what she had done.

"I didn't know… I thought…" he had stuttered afterwards, backing away from her with wide eyes, pulling on clothing quickly and carelessly. "I shouldn't... I didn't mean to..."

"It's okay," she'd replied with a relaxed smile, not really understanding his alarm, wondering why he seemed to place more significance on this act than she did herself.

But with that selfish smile she had betrayed her intention to deceive him, to trick him into doing this. No words were necessary. Obi-Wan was an honourable man, and this was clearly not something he took lightly. The expression of contempt on his face broke her heart.

And then she realised she had lost not only a love that never really existed, but a friendship that could have been far more valuable than a few fleeting moments of physical intimacy.

When they met again, ten years later, her stomach had fluttered with nerves as he smiled and shook her hand. For a few moments she felt a surge of optimism. Everything she felt for him was still there, still real. But then his eyes told her that for him too nothing had changed. He had not forgiven her. And he never would.

And now, here she sits, alone on the damp grass, running a hand over the place where they had lain, a tear on her cheek, every emotion as raw as the day it had happened. He had barely spoken to her afterwards, leaving early in the morning, only a curt message of formal apology left to mark his departure. The afternoon air is warm and humid, but Padmé shudders. It had been comforting to dismiss her feelings as a teenage crush. But now, to realise, as a woman, that no man would ever better him? It is unbearable.

Later, that night, when Anakin makes love to her, his hands trembling with uncertainty and eagerness to please, his caresses rough and alien, Padmé turns her head to the side, looking blankly into the fire, faking a bored orgasm to synchronise with his, trying to block out his frantic whisper as he tells her she is his angel, that she always has been, and that she always will be.

Anakin wants her, and his desperation and insistence are difficult to refuse. And Anakin needs her, in a way that Obi-Wan never will. She would like to think this is her destiny, or a penance that she will accept selflessly, without complaint. After all, she has made her choices with free will, and she alone is responsible for her actions. This is obviously what she deserves.

Anakin's love requires nothing positive from her, just compliance. It is so easy to comply. And the reality of the matter is that she would do this a thousand times over just to see a spark of jealousy in Obi-Wan's eyes.

No, Padmé is no angel. Padmé is a sinner, and she knows she will not be saved.


	2. ObiWan

"There it is, Arfour, right where it should be. Our missing planet, Kamino."

The red droid beeps an acknowledgement and initiates the de-orbit procedure. As they begin to descend towards the surface of the planet, Obi-Wan glances instinctively over the left wing of his starfighter, ready, as he always is, to issue a word or two of caution to his errant Padawan. But the space usually occupied by Anakin is empty. For the first time in longer than he can accurately remember, Obi-Wan is on a mission alone.

He raises an eyebrow to himself, resolving that he should make the most of the opportunity to land this thing without the silent but still palpable disapproval at his apparent lack of, what would Anakin call it, _style_? Then Obi-Wan frowns as the entire ship begins to vibrate with the atmospheric friction. How getting a lump of metal to the ground can require style is beyond him. No, there is not a single aspect of flying he enjoys, and landing is by far the worst part.

Still, the absence of his Padawan leaves Obi-Wan feeling uneasy, and there is more to that unease than the lack of a comradeship he has grown to enjoy.

He tries not to think about what Anakin might be doing, right now. If Obi-Wan has learnt anything in the past few years, it is that his still very young apprentice needs to be allowed to make his own mistakes.

But he can't help thinking about it.

Because Anakin is on Naboo.

With Padmé.

And although Obi-Wan reminds himself that whatever the Nabooian senator does is certainly none of his business, he finds that the knowledge of who Anakin might be making his latest mistake with troubles him far more than the mistake itself.

The starfighter sinks lower, and the nauseating vibrations finally fade out, the atmosphere thickening to an impenetrable grey fog. Obi-Wan is flying blind, literally. The archives have no record of this planet. His only intelligence consists of the brief details his old Besalik friend Dex could recall.

Kamino. The planet of the storms. Inhabited by cloners. Beings skilled in the art of reproduction. Any species you like, but most often human. A single genetic source, modified to remove undesirable characteristics, and a rapid, family-free childhood of clinical indoctrination and accelerated growth. It is instinctively distasteful, but for Obi-Wan, curiously fascinating, and right now, strangely apt.

Obi-Wan has no memory of his mother. It is unsurprising; he had been brought to the Temple as an infant, some time shortly before his second birthday. Sometimes he thinks he has a vague recollection of his home world, of a field of long, swaying grass reaching nearly to his eyes, and a tall boy with light brown hair and freckled skin. But that image has long since become a memory of a memory. If it had ever been real at all.

As a child, Obi-Wan had sometimes contemplated the question of who his parents were, and of what they might have been like. But they had been exactly that: in the past tense. The question had been merely an idle curiosity, the very concept of his mother an abstraction. He had never felt any emotion about it.

Until he met Padmé.

Obi-Wan's life had not been empty of women. On the contrary, there had been many. Friends. On occasion, lovers. Though never both. Invariably strong. Frequently beautiful. But, even during the closest acts of physical intimacy, entirely separate from him.

But Padmé… Padmé had been different. A long time ago, on board the Naboo royal starship, he had watched her tuck an orange blanket around the shoulders of a shivering, nine-year old Anakin Skywalker, and then reassure the boy completely with a few simple words. It was a skill Obi-Wan would take literally years to master. Then, spontaneously, the questions had arisen. Had his own mother been like this? Had she loved him? Was she still out there, somewhere, old and sad, longing to tuck a blanket around his shoulders?

The notion of his mother as a living, breathing woman, as flesh and blood, had quite simply never occurred to him. But suddenly, there was Padmé, and it seemed important. Then, as now, simply being around her instilled in Obi-Wan a feeling of longing that he didn't quite understand. And in truth, it disturbed him.

The lower atmosphere of Kamino is just as grey as the upper part, and Obi-Wan relies on the little droid's reassuring beeps, together the obvious increase in turbulence, to tell him the surface is near. Finally, they dip below the clouds and he can make out the expanse of a vast, grey ocean. As his starfighter is increasingly battered by wind and rain Obi-Wan is relieved to see a circular landing platform appear out of the fog ahead. The electricity of a lightening strike suddenly crackles arches towards it. _Well, here looks as good as anywhere..._

Obi-Wan is soaked the instant he steps out of the cockpit, and pulls on his hood more out of habit than necessity, heading towards what he assumes in an entrance. A building rises ahead of him, looming and metallic, but he can't make out much more because of the blasted rain.

At the end of the walkway doors slide open automatically and he steps into a small lobby. The walls are light and featureless, the air cold and smelling of nothing at all. The Force hums gently with a faint warning of danger. _I know_, he thinks. _Something here is not quite right… _

After a few moments, and from the curves passage to his left, a tall – translucent-skinned and dark-eyed alien appears, swaying gracefully towards him.

"Master Jedi. The Prime Minister is expecting you." The voice is light and apparently feminine.

"I'm expected?" _Now why does that not surprise me…_

Obi-Wan's escort leads him down bleached-bright corridors until they reach the circular chamber where another being rises to greet them. Obi-Wan finds the alien's glassy black eyes impenetrable, but it… his Force signature is tranquil and, once again, without threat.

The conversation that follows leaves Obi-Wan no better informed as to the assassin's association with Kamino. He probes gently, both with words, and the Force, but instead finds himself in the middle of a much larger mystery. The Kaminoans are adamant that a certain Jedi, or someone pretending to be that Jedi, once placed an order with them. Rather a large order. And they seem to be under the impression that he has come to inspect the goods.

Could Master Sifa Dias really have commissioned an army of clones for the Republic before he died? Obi-Wan ponders the question as he follows the two aliens along yet more featureless corridors. In fact Obi-Wan remembers very little about the Jedi Master's death, occurring as it did, whilst Obi-Wan was still on Naboo. And, then, before he can stop it, the memory of that time inevitably leads him back to the person he is trying to forget.

Ten years. Obi-Wan feels so much older. But when they met again Padmé was exactly as he remembered. She had turned from the window as they entered the apartment, and he had bowed and shaken her hand. And there she was. Unchanged. The same softness, the same beauty. The same feminine grace. The same outer impression of confidence, wisdom and strength, tightly wrapped around something small, hidden and fragile.

The same gentle, sweet smile that transported him back to a sun-washed terrace and the shadow of a knot of emotions he had long since untangled and laid to rest. Or so he had thought. The grief, the resentment, and sense of abandonment at the loss of Qui-Gon had gone, certainly. But the icy stab of Padmé's deceit was suddenly fresh and raw. Sweet words, soft brown eyes and too-pink lips reassuring him that it was perfectly acceptable to find in her the comfort he suddenly realised he craved. Desperately. As soon as she offered it. And although fleeting, it had been more than just physical. It had been a connection. As if she knew him better than he knew himself.

But that comfort, had, apparently, been an act. Rationality tells him he should have forgiven her, or rather, that there is nothing to forgive. How old had she been? Seventeen? Eighteen? Barely a woman. Too young to know what she really wanted. And yet he had been persuaded with little more than a smile and a whisper to steal something from her that he had no right to take. And, worst of all, he hadn't even been able to stop, even when he'd realised what was happening. Maybe it had simply been a mistake. Or maybe it was inexcusable. It had been easier, on the whole, not to think about it.

Which was what he had quite successfully managed to do. Until now.

Just two days ago he had found himself, once again, entranced by her, just as his Padawan appeared to be. And as Anakin had mumbled his awkward complement Obi-Wan had found himself agreeing. She was, if anything, more attractive, and surprisingly, pleased to see them, or him… and suddenly he had wondered, of all things, if she was single. How could he have even allowed himself to think that?

Obi-Wan had been on edge for the rest of their short meeting. Anakin's insolence was not unusual but the way Obi-Wan allowed it to irritate him was. The young man's open admission of his attraction to the senator had certainly not helped.

_You have made a commitment to the Jedi Order, a commitment not easily broken…_ Obi-Wan wasn't even sure if he had been lecturing his padawan or himself. And if he was quite honest, the prospect of hurling himself out of Padmé's window in pursuit of her would-be assassin had been entirely too attractive. In fact it had been a welcome escape.

Back in the present, Obi-Wan realises the two Kaminoans are looking at him, expectantly. He glances up to see that they have emerged into a glass tunnel, outside which a vast hall is visible, stretching seemingly to infinity in all directions. So this must be it. The clone production facility.

"Very impressive," Obi-Wan says automatically, assuming that is what they are waiting to hear.

"I'd hoped you would be pleased." The male Kaminoan smiles. "Clones can think creatively. You will find that they are immensely superior to droids."

Nearby, at the other side of the glass, Obi-Wan can see human foetuses bobbing gently inside individual clear pods. The pods are attached in rings around dial-like structures, each of which in turn is mounted on a thick vertical column. Each dial must hold about eighty pods. Each column contains at least twenty sets of six pods. And there are more columns than he can count. Obi-Wan's stomach turns over in revulsion. _So much life..._

The Kaminoan continues to regale him with all the benefits of an army made up of clones, and Obi-Wan nods and smiles politely. They continue along the corridor and pause to look out over another room, this one containing rows and rows of children, boys, all identical. They look to be around twelve years old, and they are all intently focused on the monitors in front of them, apparently some sort of learning programme.

"They are totally obedient," the Kamonian is saying, "taking any order without question."

Obi-Wan feels a smile ironic tug at his lips as the words lead his thoughts, once again, elsewhere. This time to Anakin. And later that same evening, two days ago, and their conversation on Padmé's balcony. The smile disappears.

_Dreams pass, in time_. It had been a meaningless statement, really. He'd had no idea what to say. The depth of Anakin's recurrent anxiety about the welfare of his mother is something that Obi-Wan can't comprehend. And suddenly, that saddens him.

He knows it is highly un-Jedi-like for him to be having these sort of self-centred thoughts but Obi-Wan cannot help wondering. What about his own mother? Had she said goodbye when they took him away, told him she would see him soon? Lied to him? Held him in her arms, knowing it would be for the last time? Cried for the loss of him? Or willingly abandoned him, secretly relieved to be free of a burden she did not understand?

Obi-Wan would like to hope that no Jedi was responsible for ordering the manufacture of living beings in this emotionless, clinical factory. But should he be surprised if that was the case? Was it barbaric of the Jedi to wrench babies from their families? Did it make them no better than the cloners? Reducing the younglings to little more than automata? Is that what he is?

In the peace of the Temple, in the heat of combat, and particularly when his conscious mind is short-circuited by the pure physicality of a light-saber duel, everything seems so simple. There is the Jedi, there is the Code, and there is his Duty.

But as the Kaminoans lead him out onto a balcony overlooking another vast hallway, this time containing neat ranks of a vast clone army, fully grown, operational and ready to fight, Obi-Wan realises that somehow, once again, Padmé has disrupted it all.

"Magnificant, aren't they?"

Obi-Wan nods silently, but does not reply.

Somehow, just by her presence, she has made him doubt everything he has ever believed in.


End file.
